Darkvoidof40k wrote:Harrab, I'm slowly falling in love with your posts.
"Just as Planned"
on that note:
wall of text incoming! EDIT: this is more of the Farseer's past
btw vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
The city burned.
What had once been the Governor's place before being over taken by Chaos centuries ago, was now a towering inferno with hungry flames dancing through every window, and smoke from it's destruction was thick enough to be visible form space.
The sounds of battle could still be heard, far of in the distance, but the battle for this planet was all but over, the Imperials have achieved victory across it's surface in remarkable speed, driving the entrenched forces of The Great Enemy back further and further until they had no where to run, there Saint Ferosia herself had led the charge and had cut down their leader with a single blow of her silver sword.
All that was left was to consolidate their position, burn down and sanctify those structures that bore the taint, stamp out the last of the resistance, and bring in new colonists.
The plaza before the burning palace was packed with soldiers from dozens of Imperial Guard Regiments, waving their icons of their god and bellowing like orks, rejoicing in this victory, the eighth of ten worlds they had set out to recapture, and all of them astounded and honored to be in the presence of the saint herself.
She was stood on the hull of a Super-heavy tank, a Banebalde, with a bodyguard of Crimson Fist Space Marines standing slightly lower down in a protective ring, allowing the crowds to see her shining like a sun as the fires behind her struck dazzling highlights in her golden armor and long blonde hair, and she was encouraging her follows to greater celebrations with her head lowered and hands clasped across her chest in the symbol of the Imperial.
her advisers and generals stood a respectful distance behind her, standing like statues as to not dishonor their rank with unseemly showing of emotion, although they were hiding it with difficulty. smiles kept creeping out from beneath their stony demeanor at thought of their success, but if they wanted to regain their integrity, they just had to glance across at the outsider, the single figure that stood apart from them and one they would have executed with their finely tooled boltguns if their saint had not expressively forbidden it.
But Farseer Eluna ignored them, they were too like the council that simpered and bowed around her mothers feet for her liking, focusing her attention on the human woman before them, intrigued at the skill, power and wisdom this one possessed, far beyond that of other humans she had studied over her long life and wondering how it was achieved. She could feel the touch of the warp on the young human, but not like how she touched it, nor the crude and brutal way the forces of the enemy had wielded it. Perhaps after this was done she would petition the Harlequins for entrance to the Black Library, surely they would have something that would shed some light on the matter.
As if she had felt the Farseer's gaze on her, Saint Feroisa turned and smiled at the Eldar woman, then reached out and hand and pulled to her closer to her side before Eluna could react, then the human held her advisor's hand up above their head as if she had been the winner of some sporting competition and the crowd cheered even louder, causing Eluna's expressionless mask to slip as she blushed hotly, surprised and touched at the Human's support of a "filthy Xenos."
it was, she had thought, and still did to this day, the most welcomed she had felt in her entire life.
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Several weeks had passed, another world had fallen to the Imperial onslaught.
Saint Ferosia was stood at the Map table, protected from enemy attacks by the thick walls of her command bunker and the full squad of Astartes outside the door, she was following the movement of her forces as they began the difficult job of stamping out all that remained of the previous regime without really seeing them, they knew their duty to the Golden Throne, so there was no need to pressure them.
the Living Saint started to pace, her Power Armor filling the silence with the hum of servos as it mimicked her movement, moving the gold etched material like a second skin, something was wrong.
Not with her strategy, it was the best she could conceive, nor with her forces, their morale and faith in Him on Earth was as unshakable as her own, something else bothered her, and had done so ever since Eluna had left on a personal errand.
She stopped, pondering the Eldar Psyker, She had appeared suddenly the day she had been declared a living saint, appearing within her private quarters to defend her from an assassins blade and with an offer of her service, and has remained by her side ever since, offering the young human women her bottomless experience and knowledge of the fates in exchange for protection from those within the Imperial Ranks who would seek her abilities for far less noble purposes.
As if summoned by her thoughts the door rumbled open and the Farseer stepped through, her spear in hand as always, yet the other hand was occupied by something wrapped in silken cloth, a weapon, thought Ferosia, glimpsing the hilt through a gap in the fabric as Eluna placed it upon the table, with a bow to the Saint.
"Apolagies for my intrusion your holiness," the Eldar woman greeted her in perfect gothic, as always without a trace of accent, "but I'm afraid time is short."
"Please Eluna," Ferosia countered, walking around the table to clasp a hand in between hers, "I get enough of that from the others, as my friend, I ask you to just use my name."
The Eldar women turned her face away guiltily, "as you wish... Ferosia, but as I said, time is short. I returned to give you this...'
With a flourish, she pulled the cloth away, revealing a giant two handed axe of unbelievably fine Eldar workmanship, runes having been etched into the blade and along the haft, and when Ferosia laid a hand upon it it seemed to sing within her mind, a welcoming and friendly sound.
"Its beautiful" the Saint murmured, running a finger across the delicate script. "what does this mean?"
"it is her name." the Farseer explained, "in your tongue, Cryptkeeper, and a curse, to banish those without souls to a place where even the warp cannot reach them."
Ferosia tore her gaze from the weapon and locked it with that of the inhumanly beautiful alien beside her, "you suspect the enemy will summon daemons." it wasn't a question.
"A great many." Eluna agreed, her tone flat, "I have done my best to prevent them from doing so in the battles before now, but soon i must leave, and must ask from you a favor."
"Anything."
"Keep that axe with you. Always. From this moment till you walk with your Emperor and beyond. It must not leave your side."
Ferosia hefted the axe experimentally, despite its size it was remarkably light and fast, and sat in her grip as if it forged for hers and hers alone. perhaps it had.
The living saint returned it to the table, "Why must you leave?" she asked quietly.
"The Fates demand it."
"I see." Feroisa lied in an even softer voice.
Eluna sighed, and turned the young human to face her, "Feroisa, I have stood at your side for ten of your years, and not once have i steered you wrong, despite the possible repercussions for my own people. I accept that, as failure in this would mean doom for us all, if i could cast that all aside and stand at your side at this final battle, i would, but i have this duty as you do yours. We must act out our parts."
Silence fell again. Heavy with unspoken thoughts. Then the Farseer turned to leave.
"May your Emperor protect you, my one and only friend, and grant you victory in the battle to come."
Ferosia nodded sadly, then the heavy door slammed shut between them, like the duty they both wished they could ignore.
Waaagh! Gorskar = 2050pts
Iron Warriors VII Company = 1850pts
Fjälnir Ironfist's Great Company = 1800pts
Guflag's Mercenary Ogres = 2000pts
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Ravenous Angels 
Tomb Kings 
